‘Then, sir, I am sorry for you,’ said the indignant orator. ‘I came out of friendship; but I am a professional man, and I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of going to some other party. I believe Sir Watkin Strahan will be only too glad of my assistance.’
‘By all means try him,’ said Wentworth.
And the itinerant orator retreated, having first secured a trilling loan on the plea that his journey down to Sloville had quite cleaned him out, and that he had been disappointed of a remittance.
No sooner had the orator departed than another arrival was announced.
The Hon. Algernon Smithson, a fellow-member with Wentworth of the Mausoleum Club, was his name. In he rushed, protesting that he had called at the club, that he had gone to Clifford’s Inn, that he had come on to Sloville, just to see how his friend was getting on.
‘And is that all?’ asked Wentworth.
‘Well, now you mention it, I don’t mind telling you,’ was the reply, ‘that our party are rather uncomfortable about the state of things here, and Twiss, of the Treasury, asked me if I could not have five minutes’ chat with you, and so, you see,’ said the Honourable, with a jolly laugh, or, rather, an attempt at it, ‘like the good-natured donkey that I am, I’ve let the cat out of the bag. Perhaps that is bad policy; but, then, you and I, Wentworth, are men of the world, and I like to be straightforward.’
In most quarters it was considered that the Hon. Smithson was rather a cunning old fox.
‘The fact is, you Government people don’t want an independent candidate. Is not that so?’ asked Wentworth.